Sea stars, urchins and anemones
ride the tidal waters at Rialto Beach swirling into shallow pools - clad in shades of blue, emerald and violet. Gnarls of ancient driftwood line the beach up to the rainforest’s edge just beyond the rise. Pulsing waves dash and roar against the sea stacks where the Pacific adjoins the California shore. Legions of seagulls circle above piercing the misted air with their cries and the tide, beckoned by the Sky Queen, begins to ebb and regain the open sea. As the sun sinks into the western sky – the towers of Split Rock and Hole in the Wall are silhouetted against the horizon pasteled in gold, orange and burgundy hues. Gray whales and dolphins breach the surface before plunging into the sacred depths where the ocean beats pulse on and on - sounding resonant cadences through timeless hallows of infinity.
Under the water
below the sea the whales are calling They're calling to me Divers discover the waters bright glee the fish are swimming for all to see The sea holds tresures and souls Secrets are waiting in the under sea holes What's waiting for me in the depths of the sea Is the answer I'm longing It's the key to the sea.
needles scraping bone,
heel and sole. sliding cold inside your boots you bear the weight of all you love, while inches underneath the giant gods of other worlds relay their shepard songs. empty aqua loneliness. they disappear, soaring softly into darkness and sinking, willing, deeper than the sky is wide. their dreams are of a solid state; the breath that leaves their backs a force of nature, strong enough to rent the field on which you stand that now, to us, seems still as stone.
Humpbacks roaming beneath the ice in winter. Hearing and feeling their vastness in the deeps below. An otherworldly experience.
A rocky, wavy buffet
served out on the water today. Waiting on the whales, but their hiding, or sleeping, or swimming away. In the misty distance waits Diamond Head, looking out on us, unassuming. Take a dive in the Hawaii ocean.
Daniel Magner 2020
The wailing of whales
Resounds below the water The cries of seagulls
Dad was a blowhole,
Mom, a plankton feeder Who never neglected the pod. The hunters would come In their little asinine ships, Looking to stick our Good sense with sharp points, Harpooning us into believing We'd be better off dead and used for fuel. But Mom would read to us Stories from books about high water, And tip those boats right over. Nothing dared swim in our wake on such nights, She was queen to the waves, Who in bows and curtsies, Became her subjects. Little did we know this long, arduous journey Was driven not by kingdom, but by extinction...
If the earth had a temple
Surely it would be the ocean With its stained-glass fish And its stately silver sands Its keening choir of whales And rocking sermon of waves The world above is not A foreign paradise With its broken-glass windows And its dingy gas-stained streets Its keening choir of mothers And angry sermons of men If the earth had a temple Our world would be its end.